


Knight Errant

by KoreArabin



Category: Unman Wittering and Zigo
Genre: Boarding School, Held Down, Homoeroticism, Humiliation, M/M, Menace, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22823563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: "So, how many times do you want to be sodomised,Sir?"
Kudos: 5





	Knight Errant

**Author's Note:**

> Unman, Wittering and Zigo is a 1971 British thriller. A new teacher arrives at a school and begins to suspect his predecessor was murdered by the pupils, though his suspicions are written off as paranoia. He sets out to try to avoid the same fate befalling him.
> 
> The pupils are 16/17 year olds.

"Frankly, the point's not worth arguing."

Cloistermouth scowls as Ebony strolls slowly back to his desk and sits, taking his newspaper from his briefcase and settling down to read it.

Lipstrob says, loudly.

"What about teaching Mr Ebony a little lesson?"

Terhew. "Good idea. Aggeridge, the door."

Aggeridge jumps up with alacrity and heads for the classroom door. Ebony looks up from his newspaper, watchful, as Lipstrob and Terhew rise from their desks.

"Come on then, Lippers."

Ebony puts the paper aside and sits forward, arms on the desk, as Lipstrob and Terhew slowly advance towards him, swaggering, hands in pockets, down the central aisle of the classroom. They tower over Ebony as he sits, looking up at them warily. He picks up the blackboard pointer, holding it in front of him, daring them.

"You're welcome to try."

Terhew taunts, softly. "You'll be had up."

Ebony stands, gesturing towards him with the pointer. "And you'll be knocked cold."

They're younger than him, and he's stronger than any of them on their own but, together, he knows they can take him. Not to mention the other boys. The image of him being beaten down, stripped bare, and carried bodily to the cliff edge is still burned into his memory.

Lipstrob lunges, but Ebony turns the pointer to him. "And you."

Terhew smirks. "You don't want to forget what I said yesterday."

Ebony returns his stare. "I haven't forgotten."

Terhew spits. "I meant it."

"And so did I."

The classroom is completely silent, the boys focussed on the confrontation before them. Ebony flicks a glance to the door. Aggeridge has locked it, and is holding the key. He'll have to wrest it from him if he's to get out. Lipstrob and Terhew are still a solid barrier before him, poised ready to strike.

Then Cuthbun speaks, and Ebony startles.

"We saw you, you know, Sir. At the gym, watching Lipstrob and Terhew. You watched them for a long time - not only the sparring, but afterwards, when they were stretched out on the mat - all hot and sweaty."

Bungabine chips in. "Do you like watching hot, sweaty boys, Sir? Is that your thing?"

Cloistermouth stands and walks to the desk.

"And that tumble in the copse above the headland, Sir. Did you enjoy being stripped?"

Bungabine sniggers. "There was a certain tumescence."

Cuthbun leans back in his seat and locks his fingers together behind his head. "Mr Ebony likes being dominated. Don't you, Sir? Dominated and disciplined."

He realises that this is going far beyond anything he's encountered so far. Time to reassert his authority.

"That is enough! Lipstrob, Terhew, Cloistermouth - back to your desks - _now!_ Aggeridge - unlock the door and give me the key. Cuthbun, Bungabine - _enough!_ "

It is only when none of them move, or even react, and Terhew leans in to whisper, he realises that he is fucked.

"Dominated and disciplined. _Sir_."

The next few moments are a blur. He's suddenly surrounded on all sides, trying to fight but as helpless as he was in their prior battle for control. He's physically overpowered once again, strong arms and legs holding him down, hands shucking his jacket from his shoulders, fingers tearing at the buttons of his shirt, and then, other hands and fingers unlacing his shoes, unbuckling his belt, snaking it out and away as his trousers and underwear are stripped from him. 

It's the woodland again; fingers tangle roughly in his hair, forcing his head backwards, as he's lifted up and dropped down on to his desk. The hand in his hair tugs painfully, as other hands grab his arms and pull them out to the side. His legs are bent at the knee and folded back, and he's arranged so that his arse is tilted upwards, flush against the edge of the desk.

Lipstrob leans down over him, dragging a thumb nail over his nipple.

"What sort of lesson should we teach Mr Ebony?"

Terhew shrugs. "A memorable one?"

Bungabine wraps his hand around Ebony's jaw, forcing his head even further backwards. "Has Mr Ebony ever been sodomised, do you reckon?"

Ebony struggles, but he's held fast.

"Sodomised? Have you ever been sodomised, Sir?"

He tries to look away, but Bungabine holds his head back, and Terhew moves forwards to stand over him, his muscular bulk wedged solidly between his splayed thighs. Ebony huffs as his balls are enveloped in a cold hand and squeezed.

"Do you like that, Sir?"

"Have you ever been sodomised, Sir?"

"Would you like to be, Sir?"

"Do you want a cock up your arse, Sir?"

"Will you scream when you're penetrated, Sir?"

"Or will you moan for more, Sir?"

"What do you think your anus will look like while it's being sodomised, Sir?"

Now Bungabine and Lipstrob can't help sniggering.

Cloistermouth muses.

"Mr Ebony's anus will feel swollen and hot - as if he has a fever in his lower extremities."

Cuthbun groans. 

"Too much poetic licence - tell it like it is. I would say, "Mr Ebony's anus, where it's stretched around the penis sodomising him, buried to the hilt inside him, will look similar to a bee stuck upon the skin of a man it has just stung. His reddened rim will be flushed incarnadine and swollen around the intrusion while the bee struggles to move its barb."

"Incarnadine? Who's waxing poetic now?"

"Shut it, Cloistermouth."

Terhew smirks.

"Ignore them."

"Now, how many times do you want to be sodomised, _Sir?_ "


End file.
